Chez Cesarine Holiday Diary

Maybe the beer had gone to Gavin's head or perhaps it was too much sun, either way, he was adamant he wanted to go round again on his own for practice. But with the sun beating down, another three miles was overdoing it especially since no-one seemed enthusiastic to caddie again. To be honest I think he was filled with self-recrimination for fluffing his lines at the final hole with Leech. Instead we all agreed to play a few rounds of pitch and putt, and although the course was pleasing our combined level of competence was decidedly lacklustre. At some point in the late afternoon, probably when we had lost all our balls, we left the golf club and headed back to Chez Cezarine.

There was much commotion when we got back. The non-golfers had gone to Beaumanoir, a château near Chataulaudren, and Caroline had been badly stung on the arm by a wasp. Obviously not just any wasp, but a drunken wasp, one of a swarm which had been imbibing on dregs in a bottle bank (sounds familiar - eh Nige?). At least this was Angie's theory. I failed to establish whether the bottle bank was in the grounds of the château but I suppose its possible knowing how much boozing the aristocracy do. Inebriated wasps aside, Nige had enjoyed himself and told me the château was hosting an exhibition of abstract art including a number of Warhols. His verdict was, "once you've seen one Warhol you've seen them all", at least I think that's what he said.

This was to be our last night at the house, so I prepared one of my famous curries. The business of shopping for the meal proved a bigger challenge than the cooking itself. The French, or at least the Bretons, do not seem to cook curry dishes not even curried crêpes, so the ingredients were hard to obtain. The main influence is not Indian but North African from when the French had a place in the sun. However, I managed to get all the essentials including fresh coriander and jalapenoes. I erred on the side of caution and did not put too many chillies in the curry so it was suitable for all palates. Instead, I put a dish of finely sliced chillies on the table which Nige described as a garnish and nonchalantly ate as such. Disregarding all warnings, Henri insisted on trying a handful of them too. Initially, he claimed no effect then he went crimson-faced and unusually quiet. The meal was unanimously declared one of the best and my recipe is now much sought after but remains a well-guarded secret.